


In Eve's Office

by killingg_eve



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Degradation, F/F, NSFW, Smut, happy weekend i guess, it is midnight right now, uhhhhhh, very not safey for worky, villanelle works for eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28786929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: Villanelle gets called into Eve's office.Just some smut that has me questioning what this is and where it came from and why I wrote it in one sitting on a Friday night.👁 👄 👁
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 36
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I realized it's kind of degradation-y because Eve is not very pleasant. Whenever this mean version of Eve comes out, though, it's good smut. And it reminds me of season 2, where Eve is just being a complete dickswab because she's in charge of V.

_Villanelle,_

_Please see me in my office at your earliest convenience._

_Eve_

Villanelle shovels another Haribo cherry into her mouth as she reads the email. She focuses on the wording, trying to decipher what Eve might need from her. The workday is fairly slow, and her tasks for the day have been straightforward.

She switches back over to the document she was typing, hoping to finish the paragraph she was working on. The email notification had distracted her. She figures she’ll go to Eve’s office after she finishes articulating what she was trying to write.

The text message comes almost immediately after.

_Eve: My office. Now!!!!!!_

Villanelle slams her laptop shut and walks quickly down the hall to Eve’s office. She is too caught up with worrying to notice how much her heartrate picks up.

She knocks on Eve’s door and waits for the “Come in” that bellows on the other side of the wood. When it does, she shuffles in, straightens her posture, and adjusts her blazer. She says, “Yes, Eve?” because that’s the right thing to say, and she suspects that Eve is most likely angry.

Eve is very angry, as fate would have it.

“Close the door.” Eve gives the command low and quiet, as though through gritted teeth—but they’re not; her teeth are not actually gritted when she speaks this way.

Villanelle closes the door. When it clicks shut, she suddenly feels trapped. Her skin feels warm. She feels like there is not enough oxygen. She wonders if she might just panic. She wants to know what she did wrong—or what else Eve needs—but she _assumes_ she’s done something wrong.

“Come here,” Eve says. And only then does Eve stand up, crossing her arms and waiting as patiently as she can.

Villanelle’s hands fall to her sides and she walks over to Eve, trying to feign confidence. She knows that she can’t hide the way her hands nervously ball into fists and then release. _Ball, release._ Over and over. And she thinks it probably looks awkward. It’s the complete opposite of what she wanted her body language to show. She arrives at her destination, regardless, which is right beside Eve, on Eve’s side of the desk.

“Bend over,” Eve tells her.

Villanelle looks out the window behind them, then down to the desk. She calculates. She thinks about the enormous window and the busy street and the passerby’s on the sidewalk, below. But then she remembers that Eve’s eyes are on her, somehow both cold and fiery at the same time. Angry. So she bends over the desk and leans on her elbows. And she looks up at Eve’s scolding expression, then lowers her gaze and stares down at the glass tabletop.

“I think we both know that this isn’t stopping, here,” Eve says. She is growing impatient. The urge to unleash utter rage on Villanelle boils just below the surface of Eve’s skin. “I want your trousers and your panties down to your ankles. _Now_.”

Villanelle’s fingers have never been quicker to undo the button and zipper of her trousers, even though her fingers feel cold and numb with anxiety. Nonetheless, she completes the task in record time and drops her garments down to the floor so that they pile around her shoes.

Villanelle’s back arches with nervousness. She waits and hears her own heartbeat echoing in her ears when she registers the sound of another zipper coming undone. And within moments, the silicone is at her entrance. Nudging, already. Trying to take, already.

Eve swipes through Villanelle’s folds and coats the tip.

“Which part of this made you wet?” she asks. Her tone is neither cold nor warm, but remains stern.

“Coming in here and closing the door and being told to bend over,” Villanelle rushes out, like this is a test in school. Her throat feels dry, even though these are the first words she’s spoken since she said ‘Yes, Eve.’

Eve enters her, then. She does so inch by inch, all the way to the hilt. And then she begins to rock her way in and out, very slowly.

Villanelle lets out a high-pitched, choking sort of sound, somewhere in the back of her throat. Then, she settles into the warm feeling of being fucked.

“What are you doing, this week?” Eve asks.

“ _Oh_ ,” Villanelle starts, squeaking at first and then bringing her voice down to its regular pitch. “I’m going to the movies with Aubrey, tomorrow, and then I have a check-up on—”

She’s cut off by Eve spanking her, once. _Hard_.

“For _work_ ,” Eve scolds. “What are you doing this week?”

Villanelle catches her breath and murmurs, “S— _Sorry_.” She hums quietly when Eve slides into her, then corrects herself. “I’m going to Tuscany on Wednesday. I’ll get the target, come back, and write my report.”

“ _That’s not—!_ ” Eve realizes she is yelling and clears her throat, returning to a speaking volume. “That’s not what I asked you to do.”

Villanelle feels Eve’s cock glide over her g-spot and she grunts and then sighs, and then she hurriedly responds to Eve’s concern. “That’s what Carolyn told me to do, this week,” she argues.

“ _Ow!_ ”

Villanelle is cut off again by Eve spanking her.

“You listen to what _I_ tell you to do, Villanelle.” Eve continues working her way in and out of Villanelle—slowly, tantalizingly slow.

“Yes, Eve!” Villanelle cries.

“I told you to go to _Tuscany_ , go to _Germany_ , get both of _those_ targets, and then file the reports for both on _Monday_.”

“But—But what about . . . Carolyn is _your_ boss, too! That means she’s my boss’s boss!” Villanelle whines out the argument in complete desperation.

Eve fills Villanelle and then stills. She can feel Villanelle’s body craving the continual pulses in and out, but that’s not what Villanelle will get.

“Open the top drawer on your left. Do it _now_ ,” Eve demands.

Villanelle scrambles and rips the desk drawer open. She examines its contents so she will be prepared for whatever Eve asks her for, but the answer is obvious, in this case. There’s a black anal plug with a fake diamond on the end.

“Get the—”

Villanelle interrupts Eve with her actions, grabbing the plug and shoving it into Eve’s hand, clumsily but efficiently.

Eve slides out of Villanelle and runs the butt plug over Villanelle’s center, gathering wetness onto it. Then, without any announcement, she starts working the butt plug into Villanelle.

The stretch is marvelous, and Villanelle closes her eyes and waits and relaxes. Well—she relaxes until Eve’s lecture carries on. And then she’s more worried about Eve’s words than the feeling in her ass.

“ _I’m_ your boss, Villanelle. Not Carolyn. And it would serve Carolyn well not to cross me, when it comes to that.” She feels Villanelle accommodate the toy, till it’s fully seated inside of Villanelle. Even then, she rubs the cheap jewel on the end and teases, trying to push it further in than the length that is available. “Do as I say,” Eve says. “And don’t be a brat,” she adds, for good measure.

“Yes, Eve,” Villanelle responds. Her voice is higher than she wishes, and her eyes are clamped shut as she leans over the desk and breathes deeply, succumbing to the arousal. “Tuscany, Germany, and I’ll file the reports on Monday.” She repeats her work schedule as though it’s a prayer for mercy from god himself.

Eve enters Villanelle again, practically ignoring the conversation. She starts to pump in and out of Villanelle. She starts slow but works her way a little bit faster.

Villanelle hears Eve grunt—quietly, _so_ discreetly. She knows that if she just keeps her mouth shut and doesn’t say anything that Eve will—

“Oh my god,” Eve murmurs. “ _Oh_ ,” she breathes, “that feels good.”

Villanelle drops her head forward to hide her smile. To hide her arousal. To hide how pliable she is under praise. And she decides to wait a few more moments before any moans escape her own mouth, even though she feels so pleasured and so full.

“So . . .” Eve remembers where they left off, “. . . you’ll listen to me very carefully, from now on?”

“Yes, Eve.”

The answer is simple, but the excuse to finally express arousal arrives, so Villanelle sighs and moans while Eve fucks her. She feels the butt plug adjust with each breath she takes, and that just makes everything feel even better.

“I—I have a question.” Villanelle is nervous, but she thinks Eve will listen, now.

“Hmm?”

“Can I please—may I please touch my clit?” There’s a hint of desperation in her voice, but she does her best to downplay it.

“Hah,” Eve chuckles, “that’s a little . . . dare I say, _slutty_ , Villanelle. Everyone down there,” (she gestures to the window behind them) “will see how needy you are.”

“But . . .” Villanelle wants to argue.

“But what?”

“Eve, you’re fucking me in front of the very same window. Plus, I don’t care what any of them think. Why would you care what they think, Eve? That’s pointless.”

Eve pinches her and then wiggles the plug around by wobbling at the base, and that serves pretty well to make Villanelle be less bratty and blunt. “Go on,” Eve sighs, after, with a roll of her eyes.

Villanelle eagerly starts to stroke at her clit with her middle finger. Immediately, her mouth falls open to accommodate her deep breaths and her attempt to be somewhat quiet. But before long, she’s dropping her head forward and whining, “ _Oh, fuck!”_ and her moans are breathy and high-pitched and quite feminine and choked and—

The honk that comes from a car below is almost immediate.

“I told you,” Eve taunts.

Villanelle huffs in frustration and she wants to think about hurting people. Especially whoever honked their horn.

She can’t focus on it, though, because then Eve is pounding into her harder and faster. She’s doing it on purpose. Surely, she wants Villanelle to finish, because Eve knows exactly what to do when she wants Villanelle to come.

It’s not subtle at all when Eve starts hurling forcibly whiny encouragements of, “C’mon, baby!” and “Oh m’god,” and “Oh, _fuck_ , you feel so good!”

And Villanelle would like to claim that Eve’s tricks don’t work, but she starts to get off on the praise. She starts to cry out and whine as Eve bucks into her, deeper and faster, and she swirls three fingers around on her throbbing clit because she forgets the incident with the car horn ever even happened. And then her cunt is throbbing, and her ass is throbbing, and she’s coming and every part of her feels good— _so_ good.

When she’s finished, her vision seems blurry and her ears are plugged. She stays on her elbows, just breathing. Panting for air. Then, she realizes that her elbows hurt and her cunt is sore.

Eve finds the right moment to pull out. She zips the dick back into her trousers and scoots her office chair over, slumping into it while she watches Villanelle catch her breath.

“You can take this out of me, now,” Villanelle says, breathlessly. She gestures; she’s talking about the plug. Her stomach rises and falls while she speaks, due to the lack of oxygen.

Eve thought she was finished being stern, but the situation presents another opportunity.

“What time is it?” Eve asks.

“I don’t know,” Villanelle pants. She drops her head into her hands tiredly because she just wants this all to be over. She’s sore, she’s tired . . . and she just came, afterall.

Eve hesitates, frustration brewing inside of her gut, again. “There’s a computer two inches from your face.”

Villanelle regards the time and says, “It’s 3:24.”

“How much of the day is left?”

“An hour and thirty-six minutes . . .” Villanelle says. Her voice wavers with sarcasm. She figures Eve didn’t need her to do that math.

“Well then, you can keep it in for an hour and thirty-six minutes. I can remove it at the end of the day. Unless . . .” Eve feels her annoyance toward Villanelle rising up. Villanelle, the difficult employee. “I mean, you can manage that much, can’t you?” Eve condescends.

Villanelle pauses. She feels insulted and belittled, but she’s wet. And the thought of wearing the plug for the rest of the workday . . .

. . .having to sit down on it, probably breathing in through her teeth when it doesn’t feel quite right, making all of the other cubicle workers wonder if she is in pain, if she needs to take sick leave . . . having a plug under her clothes, inside of her, and having to do her basic work duties while the plug stretches her, making her more and more wet, all over again . . . picking up the phone and saying, “This is Villanelle,” without whining or hesitating or giving some indication that she _feels_ it tugging on her . . .

“I can,” Villanelle responds, nodding quickly. She furrows her brow and states it as though she’s the most educated worker at MI6, as though Eve can’t possibly imagine her full range of skills.

To prove her point, she bends down and pulls her underwear and her trousers back up. Then, she makes her exit, walking over to the door with a stride that she didn’t have, on the way in. And her heels click on the carpet, which makes her even more confident.

“One last thing,” Eve says.

“Yes, Eve?”

“I just—Don’t,” Eve swats her hand, clearly annoyed at Villanelle. “Don’t loiter in my office. This conversation did not need to take that long. Get in here, listen to what I have to say, and then let us both get back to work. Okay?”

Villanelle smirks. Her eyebrows raise, the slightest bit.

“Okay,” Villanelle agrees, smugly. And then she lets herself out of Eve’s office and strides down the hall, towards her workspace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I can't believe there's a chapter 2.
> 
> *Yeet* Enjoy this absolute filth!

When the clock strikes 5:00, Villanelle is already at Eve’s door. She dared not to disturb Eve even thirty seconds before, knowing her actions would likely result in punishment—or worse, humiliation.

Villanelle triple-checks her phone, ensuring it is 5:00 exactly. Then, she knocks.

No answer comes.

She wipes the sweat from the palm of her hand and takes a deep breath, realizing that her knock must have been too quiet. She knocks again.

“Jesus Christ!” bellows Eve’s scratchy, enraged voice.

Villanelle shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t, but she does. She opens the door. She hopes that Eve will see her and change her tone of v—

Villanelle gasps as a pen whizzes its way towards her, clunking into the wall mere inches from her face and then falling to the carpet.

“Did I tell you that you could come in?” Eve asks, irritated.

Villanelle finds Eve’s eyes. She regrets eye contact when she meets Eve’s gaze, finding that Eve’s eyes are black and predatory and void of compassion.

“N-No,” Villanelle stammers, “but you told me to come back after an hour and thirty-six minutes because there’s still a plug in my ass, and you promised you would take it out, and I want it out, and I want to go home!” Villanelle’s babbling turns desperate, towards the end. It’s like a cry for mercy and a logical argument, all at once.

“I have work to finish. I need to stay late,” Eve says, coldly. She looks back at her computer monitor and starts to type.

After a few awkward moments pass, Villanelle realizes she should probably leave. Eve’s concentration on the work before her, paired with the lack of communication, leads Villanelle to believe that she is meant to leave Eve alone.

She only shuffles slightly back out of the door before Eve stops her.

“Hey!” Eve argues. “Aren’t you my assistant?”

“Well, yes. Yes, I am your professional—”

“Then you need to stay late, as well! _My_ staying late is _your_ staying late,” Eve scolds.

Villanelle enters Eve’s office fully, then, and closes the door behind her. She watches Eve type, waiting for some type of command. Maybe she’ll have to go back to her cubicle and start her computer up, again, contributing to whatever project Eve is currently focused on. She folds her hands in front of her and awaits Eve’s orders.

“I need something to listen to while I work,” Eve says. Her eyes never leave her computer screen, as she says this.

Villanelle pulls out her phone and unlocks it, then quickly begins to type. She makes her way to Eve’s desk while finding the page she’s looking for. When she gets to Eve’s desk, she shows her phone to Eve.

“Have you ever heard of LoFi music? It’s excellent for concentration. I think it would really accommodate writing—”

And Villanelle is interrupted, again.

“I don’t want to listen to music,” Eve says. She swats her hand and Villanelle backs away from her desk.

“Okay . . .” Villanelle says. She is starting to grow impatient, but she knows that any ill words towards Eve would only cause more damage. She knows that if her tone changes, Eve will catch it, and she’ll never hear the end of it. “What do you want to listen to?” Villanelle asks. She poses the question casually and doesn’t infiltrate her words with any particular feeling. Her emotions are undetectable, she thinks.

Eve still doesn’t look away from her monitor as she says, “I want you to sit on the couch and fuck yourself.”

Villanelle watches Eve roll her mouse around on the mousepad. She watches Eve type. She notes how cold Eve is. And then she thinks of her ass and the throbbing feeling—where the plug is.

She had almost forgotten that the plug was still there. It had distracted her for the remainder of her workday, and she found herself grinding against her office chair. Sometimes she needed to close her eyes and picture lying on the beach (that sort of thing, you know)—something to distract her from the feeling.

Villanelle’s heartbeat picks up because she wants this. She wants to touch herself. She wants to come, again. Eve only let her come once, then made her suffer the torture of having the plug in.

“Clothes on or off?” Villanelle asks, her voice breathy and excited and nervous.

“Heels on. Everything else off,” Eve says, like she’s telling Villanelle how to export data or add tasteful elements to her resumé. She still doesn’t look at Villanelle.

Villanelle heads over to the couch, and she immediately grabs her own breasts over her shirt and blazer. She thinks of Eve listening to her and starts becoming more and more wet, already. She lets out a shaky breath—perhaps in place of a moan—and her eyes fall closed.

She knows Eve isn’t watching—Eve is _listening_ , which is completely different. So, she doesn’t make a show of undressing for Eve.

Villanelle gets to work, taking her pants and underwear off, bringing them down, over her heels. She takes them off and throws them on the couch, off to the side. Then, she takes off her blazer. Then her shirt. Then her bra. She throws them all into the pile.

She touches her breasts, again. Without the layers of clothing, she feels so sensitive and aroused. She faces away from Eve and palms them.

And she’s imagining that maybe Eve would touch her breasts, the same way that she’s touching them, herself, but she doesn’t want Eve to know that she’s thinking about this.

Villanelle moves on, soon enough, and she sits down on the couch with an ungraceful huff. She looks at Eve. Eve is still typing and seemingly ignoring her, so she lets her eyes trail over Eve’s body while she pulls her legs up onto the couch. She spreads her legs, setting her heels down on the fine leather of the couch. And at the same time, she looks at the features of Eve’s face, and looks lower and imagines the shape of Eve’s breasts, and she looks lower and lower and lower, still, imagining all of Eve.

Villanelle gasps because she finds herself automatically reaching for the plug in her ass. She locates the fake jewel and taps on the base of the plug, remembering when Eve did the same to her, earlier. She wiggles it and she takes shaky breaths. She moans “ _Ahh_ ,” and her eyes fall closed.

Her other hand comes up. She is shaky as her middle finger lands on her wet clit. She finds that her finger feels cold, but her body is so, so, so warm. She strokes over her clit, once, and lets out a squeak. She’s been counting down the minutes until she could get herself home and make herself come, again, so every touch feels perfect.

Her head falls forward and she repeats her actions, wiggling the plug and trailing her finger over her clit.

She’s not even aware of the groans she’s making in the back of her throat until she hears Eve say, “Mmmm, _fuck_.”

By the time Villanelle’s eyes open and land on Eve, Villanelle is led to believe that Eve never even looked at her. Eve most likely expressed that while listening—while working. While focusing mostly on work.

Villanelle can’t stop herself before a whispered “ _Eve_ ” comes out of her mouth. She regrets it, immediately. She knows Eve heard. She knows that since Eve heard, Eve may realize what she _does_ to Villanelle. Making her all hot and bothered. Making her wet, making her swirl the plug around like it was never even a punishment.

Villanelle doesn’t have time to think about it. Because then she’s rubbing harder. She’s rubbing her clit with her middle and index finger. And then it’s still not enough, so she’s adding her ring finger.

The “ _Ohhh_ ,” that leaves her is breathy and desperate, and she doesn’t have time to evaluate it. All that she has time for is thrumming over her clit, tugging at the base of the plug, and trying to just keep breathing while all of the pleasure rolls through her.

Eve’s eyes fall on her, finally, at some point in the process.

Villanelle lays her head upon her own shoulder and meets Eve’s gaze. She lets her mouth continue to hang open while she touches herself and watches Eve watch her.

It feels even better, somehow, knowing that Eve is watching her.

Eve only keeps eye contact for mere seconds, then gazes down—down at Villanelle’s body, that is.

Surely, Eve must be enjoying the show, because she looks at the plug and at how fast Villanelle’s fingers are moving, and she sees Villanelle’s heels and her open legs. And then Eve is staring wordlessly. Staring and staring—till she lets out a little bit of a groan and reaches down to adjust the bulge in her trousers. Eve grabs at the silicone in her pants, massaging what appears to be the top portion of the shaft, up against her thigh.

Eve grunts.

Eve’s entire reaction is objectifying, really. She doesn’t look at Villanelle’s eyes, just her body. How she strokes herself through her pants . . . how she grunts.

Villanelle just feels wetter. Nervous, but wet. Eve’s predatory gaze burrows into her soul. She has and ignores (repeatedly) the impulse to shut her legs and shield herself from being objectified by the pleasure that Eve is deriving from coldly looking at her body.

And then the moment is over, and Eve looks away. And Villanelle looks away, too, staring straight ahead of her and just enjoying the feelings.

It’s only when Villanelle gets close that she wants Eve to look at her, again.

“Eve!” she cries.

But Eve doesn’t respond, she just continues her mundane computer task.

“Oh, _fu_ _ck_ ,” Villanelle whines. “Look at me!”

Villanelle feels every part of her threaten to tighten and throb, and she lets out pleading moans while she works away at herself.

“Look at me! Let me come!” Villanelle begs. “I need to come!”

Eve leans on her elbow and looks at her monitor quizzically. She stares on for a moment, and then she asks Villanelle a question.

“What year did Fat Panda die?” Eve asks, never looking up.

“Twenty! Eight! Teen!” Villanelle cries. She takes a breath in between, and her words come out sounding pleasured and slurred.

Eve nods to herself and types up a few more words.

And then Eve abruptly stands up. She leans over her desk and clicks “Shut down” on her computer. She grabs her coat and pulls it on.

“Please! Please! Please!” Villanelle calls, all the while. She knows that coming will bring her both pleasure and pain, given the plug in her ass. She doesn’t care, anyway, because she’s so desperate to finish.

Eve grabs her bag and makes her way towards the door.

Villanelle thinks that Eve is ignoring her, till Eve stops walking and looks straight down at her pussy.

Villanelle feels like she’s part of an experiment, or something, when Eve bends down and plunges two fingers inside. It’s abrupt. But Eve’s fingers are perfect, according to Villanelle. Eve fucks her with two fingers, curling them and hitting Villanelle’s g-spot.

Villanelle’s head falls back and rests on the couch, and her whines are high-pitched and delighted. She begs something like, “Please make me come!” and “Oh god, fuck my cunt!”

But all of Villanelle’s needs go unanswered, because then Eve murmurs, “ _Mmm_ ,” and smiles to herself. She must be thinking Villanelle’s cunt is pretty, but she never says that—or if she does, it’s a conversation between her and herself. All too quickly, she removes her fingers from Villanelle and wipes them (casually) onto her trousers.

Villanelle just feels closer and closer, still. She likes that Eve touched her. She likes that Eve gave her a few strokes and hummed in approval of how dripping and desperate her body is. She wonders what Eve liked—maybe her clit, maybe the feeling of being inside of her hole, maybe the fact that she is still being punished by the plug.

Regardless, Villanelle is delighted. She clamps her eyes shut, again. She puts two of her own fingers into herself, mimicking what Eve just did to her. But she pulses harder and faster, and she realizes she’s really going to come, now, no matter what.

Villanelle hopes she has provided a good soundtrack for Eve to work to. Because soon enough, she’s crying out and coming. Her moans turn to pleasured groaning sounds. She clenches around the plug, and she clenches around her fingers, and she keeps her other hand on her clit for as long as she possibly can.

Everything feels good—so, so good.

Villanelle eventually opens her eyes. She wonders if Eve thought the orgasm sounded good. She wonders if all of this helped Eve write her report, or if maybe Eve is so turned-on from the sound of the orgasm that she will start stroking the cock, again.

Villanelle pauses and glances around, and she realizes Eve is gone. Long gone, probably. Maybe on her way home, all while Villanelle sits on the couch with her legs open and a faint sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead and stomach.

Villanelle squeezes her eyes closed while she pulls her fingers out of her cunt. And she breathes heavily as she closes her sore legs.

She gets up and hurries to pull her clothes on so that she can leave the office. And she decides that she can take the plug out when she gets herself home, since she might be too sensitive to try to do that, right now.

Villanelle pulls herself together and heads home and hopes that she won’t be scolded by Eve, tomorrow morning, for having stayed in the office too late.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the encouragement on this. I was feeling shy about this piece because Eve is such a villain that it's unreal, but you all have been super open towards this type of filth. Thank you for all of your encouraging comments!

_Come to my office when you have some time._

_Eve_

Villanelle’s hands clam up when she reads the email. She wonders if this is like last time—but it’s not, she believes, because she stopped taking Carolyn’s directions. In fact, she completely stopped communicating with Carolyn altogether, out of fear of making Eve angry. And it causes all sorts of problems, the fact that Carolyn doesn’t know how much power Eve wields over Villanelle, or why Villanelle was adamant about straying from the schedule Carolyn suggested for last week’s assassinations.

Villanelle does not wait for a follow-up text this time; instead, she immediately makes her way to Eve’s office.

**

“Over here,” Eve says calmly, with a little wave, when Villanelle comes in.

Villanelle makes her way to Eve’s desk. She stands next to Eve’s chair, since that’s usually where she’s supposed to be.

“Yes, Eve?” Villanelle says. She does her best to mask the way her voice shakes.

“Get on your knees,” Eve tells her.

Eve’s voice is pretty neutral. Although Eve is never warm, there’s a stark difference between when Eve is angry versus not. Still, Villanelle just—

“Did I do something wrong?” Villanelle asks, making her way down, onto her knees.

“Hah,” Eve chuckles, “Do you ever do anything _right_?”

Villanelle thinks of all the tasks she does for Eve, trying to decipher what Eve is getting at. Villanelle often needs clarification on projects, but that’s because Eve is _Eve_ ; Eve never explains things well or includes all of the necessary information on the first try.

During the time Villanelle ponders Eve’s loaded accusation, Eve has a laughing fit. It’s almost as if there’s another person in the room who understands what Eve is getting at.

“Anyway,” Eve says, when she has finished laughing at her own anti-joke. She clears her throat and quickly unbuttons her trousers. Then she commands, “Take these down, around my knees.”

Villanelle stops herself from having any reaction at all. She realizes that she should have figured Eve is only interrupting her work for one thing. That is, since Eve isn’t angry, Villanelle concludes that Eve is aroused. And it’s important for Villanelle to take care of that, or else Eve _will_ be angry.

Wordlessly, she unzips Eve’s trousers. She pulls Eve’s trousers down, even waiting on Eve to shift her weight in the chair and get the trousers out from beneath her.

Villanelle wasn’t aroused, prior, but she revels in the fact that she’s finally seeing Eve. Eve uses Villanelle for sex, all the time, but Villanelle has never been instructed to satisfy Eve’s body.

Villanelle becomes momentarily lost in thought, and Eve abruptly pushes two fingers into her mouth. Villanelle hums when her mouth is full of Eve’s fingers. Her cheeks feel like they must be slightly red, and she suddenly feels a bit oxygen-deprived.

Eve pushes in further, towards Villanelle’s throat. And when Villanelle keeps eye contact and gags, Eve moans, “Mmm,” and leans back in her desk chair.

Eve pulls her fingers out of Villanelle’s mouth and slides them back in, again. As Villanelle sucks on her fingers, she groans and reaches for the strap-on. Then, she starts to rub it, starting at the tip and then working her way down. She massages it. Her groans become more frequent, and then she’s stroking the whole shaft.

Villanelle just keeps Eve’s eye contact while her mouth is full of Eve’s fingers. Her eyes only occasionally flicker down to the cock in Eve’s hand, watching Eve work.

Eve removes her fingers, at last, but quickly demands, “Suck me off.”

Villanelle doesn’t know if Eve means the cock, or what. She seeks clarification, starting to ask, “Where do you want m—” but then she’s cut off as Eve tugs the strap so that it’s off to the side, then pulls at the back of Villanelle’s head until Villanelle is up against her cunt.

Villanelle wants to enjoy the sight. Or Eve’s scent. She finds herself wishing that Eve would take things more slowly—because Villanelle wants Eve, after all. The condescending tone and the humiliation, and everything. All of it makes Villanelle want Eve _so badly_ —but Eve is heartless. That’s the reality. It is a reality that Villanelle can’t argue against, especially with the potential for punishment lurking in the air, if she doesn’t satisfy Eve.

So, soon enough, Villanelle is latching onto Eve’s clit and suckling and flicking at nerve endings with her experienced tongue.

Eve groans and sighs gruff profanities.

“Suck on that clit,” Eve says. She bucks into Villanelle’s mouth whenever she feels like it and exclaims “ _Yeah_ ,” low and predatory.

Villanelle puts her hand on Eve’s thigh and pushes, encouraging Eve to spread her legs wider. She continues sucking on Eve’s clit because she knows that that’s all Eve wants—no fingers, no teasing, nothing else. Villanelle hums when Eve’s thighs push open further.

Eve grunts and strokes the cock while Villanelle’s mouth works. She teases under the tip of it, rubbing her thumb in small circles, and then grasps her hand around the whole of it and strokes.

“Oh m’god,” Eve says, when she’s close. “Suck on it.”

And Villanelle soon feels Eve’s body tense. She feels Eve’s clit throb against her tongue, and she knows Eve is coming.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eve groans, keeping her hand still on the middle of the shaft. She slowly squeezes her hand up and down, a few times, then shakes the cock from the base.

Villanelle could swear it’s all real. But Villanelle doesn’t have time to ponder, because then Eve is pulling at Villanelle’s head, guiding her towards the toy. Eve puts the tip in Villanelle’s mouth and then strokes the shaft, a couple of times. Then, Eve pushes the whole of the cock into Villanelle’s mouth. Once, twice.

Villanelle gags the second time. And Eve moans when she gags.

Villanelle trusts that everything has gone to plan, so far. That she’s pleasured Eve and stayed on Eve’s good side.

So, when Eve pulls the cock out and sighs, exhaustedly, Villanelle looks up at her patiently. Almost warmly. Without even realizing it, her body initiates the subconscious reflex to swallow.

When Eve sees that motion in Villanelle’s throat—the minuscule evidence of Villanelle’s muscles working to make Villanelle swallow—things come to a head.

Villanelle finds herself on her feet, all of a sudden. She’s coughing because her mouth was full of saliva at the time that Eve pulled her upright. Suddenly, Villanelle is bent over Eve’s desk, and her hands are behind her back, and her face is pressed down against the cold glass of the tabletop. She pants for air.

“What?!” Villanelle cries.

Eve pushes Villanelle’s face harder against the glass.

“You think you deserve to swallow cum?” Eve asks, outraged. “Who the _fuck_ decided that sluts like you get to swallow? You think you’re worthy of that?”

Villanelle hums as if to say “No!” and she shakes her head. She clenches her hands into fists behind her back clamps her eyes shut.

Eve holds up a waste bin for her. “ _Spit_ ,” Eve demands.

Villanelle spits into the bin, and then her face is pressed back down against the desk.

Villanelle whines as she feels the unforgiving pressure of the glass against her cheek.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to come in your mouth, again, if you don’t know how to handle it,” Eve says, darkly.

“N-No, _please_!” Villanelle cries.

“I don’t know if I’m ever going to use your mouth again.”

“Eve?” Villanelle whines, desperately. “Eve?”

“What?”

“ _Please_ , Eve. Please, oh my god . . .” she begs. “Fuck,” she says. “You taste so _good,_ Eve.”

Eve presses down on Villanelle’s wrists, which presses Villanelle’s body against the desk, more firmly. “You like the taste of that, don’t you?” Eve says.

“Yeah!” Villanelle cries.

“Hmm,” Eve says. She pauses as though she’s weighing all of her options. “If I ever use your mouth to get myself off, again, you’d better not _ever_ fucking swallow.”

Villanelle nods. It makes her cheek rub up against the desk. She knows that Eve can see. She hums in agreement, anyway.

“Huh,” Eve says, considering things, again. She lets go of Villanelle’s wrists and steps back. She is amused when Villanelle doesn’t move anything, but stays down, with her hands behind her back.

“Get out of my office,” Eve says.

“What?” Villanelle says, surprised by the sudden change. She can’t tell whether Eve is happy with her, upset with her, both, or neither.

“I’m sending you a project over email,” Eve says. Her voice wavers in a condescending tone. “Get out of my office and do your job!” Eve suddenly escalates into yelling, at the end.

Villanelle pulls herself upright and hurries out the door, not even stopping to look back and try to read Eve’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Can someone tell me why this version of Eve is like a . . . straight, white man? Like the epitome of the absolute worst type of dude?
> 
> It's hot when Eve does it. At least, I think so 👀


End file.
